


Stay

by Atilol



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Pinkie promise, The porn is coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atilol/pseuds/Atilol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of darkness, but not weakness. Jim is sleepless, Spock comforts. A followup to my previous work, "Hurricane," but can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

His heart beat fast, ricocheting in a sharp staccato off his ribcage. Neon flashes. Radiation, Scotty? No, he was gone. They were all gone. Lights, white. Then, black. Behind his eyes, dark space melted into a slow, drugged slide into a fuzzy black. Then, a deep sleep, like nothing. His heart still beating fast, oh, God, no, _this isn’t what i planned atall ohgodSpockpleasehelpme i’m sorry i’m dying iloveyouiloveyoui’msorry my friend_ \- 

He woke. His shirt and sheets were tacky, his body damp with a cold sweat. His bangs, now too long and in complete violation of regulation, were plastered to his forehead in thin clumps. He sat up in bed, peeling himself from the sheets with resignation. 

In short, Jim Kirk felt nothing less than fucking disgusting.

He sat up in bed. Dry, phantom tears welled behind his eyes. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t allow himself to cry - he would welcome the release, but it just wouldn’t come. The ache in his throat, the sobs that wanted to come simply sat in a ball behind his trachea, leaving his heart to pump the stale adrenaline through his body and his mind in a wreck. 

_I died._

After a moment of pale reflection, staring out the window of his temporary apartment in the city (very near the hospital, so Bones could make sure he didn’t turn into a _goddamned superhuman egotistical-murder-freak_ ) on forced recuperation leave, he reached over and grabbed his communicator off the bedside table. He took a moment to look at his fingernails, blunt and chewed to a bloody quick, on top of the thin, gold lattice of the screen-cover, before flipping it open and typing a quick message:

**13:47 AM To: Cmdr. Spock**  
 _I know it’s late. Please come over. It’s urgent. - J_

He closed his eyes for only a moment before the quick chirp of his comm alerted him to the reply.

**13:49 AM From: Cmdr. Spock**  
 _I will arrive momentarily. - S_

It suddenly sunk in that Spock was coming to see him. And, if he said he would be there momentarily, then it meant that he would be. Nevermind that Spock was living around five city blocks away - he always kept his word. 

Jim jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. It wasn’t so much primping so much as a necessary precaution against being repulsive. He brushed his teeth quickly and splashed water on his face. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes in a stark purple gradient, and his normally tan skin was gaunt. He ran a wet hand through his hair and scrubbed under his arms, suddenly exhausted with the small amount of effort he had put into cleaning himself. 

Jim trudged back to his bed, his boxers hanging off his still-thin frame. Dying took a lot out of a man, after all, and he was almost as trim as he had been in high school. He hopped back into bed, pulling the covers up to his nose and closing his eyes, trusting Spock to let himself in with the access code Jim had shoved at him practically the moment he found out where he was living. 

Sure enough, in just a few moments, Jim heard the slide of his door opening and shutting. He didn’t open his eyes until he felt a weight gracefully descend on the edge of the bed. When he did open his eyes, it was to see Spock in his black linen pajamas, sitting full lotus on the edge of the bed like some sort of watchful Vulcan cat. Jim drew a hand from inside the covers to rest near Spock’s knee before closing his eyes again.

“I am sorry that your sleep is inadequate,” Spock said softly.

“I never said that,” Jim murmured, suddenly shy that he had called to Spock so needily. Their - relationship - or whatever it was, had changed ever since Jim had received a note from Spock that acknowledged the more-than-friendly feelings he had harbored towards Jim, realized in the moments of his death. Though they had done no more than express their mutual affection (in small ways, like glances and fleeting touches,) in the week since Jim had been released from the hospital, Jim found Spock’s presence immensely comforting. But, still, he was a captain, damn it, he didn’t need to go crying to his mommy every time he had a nightmare. 

“I can infer,” he replied, voice even; affection concealed but evident.

Jim opened his eyes once more while turning and sitting up in bed, wrapping his arms around his knees. He raised a hand, fingers raised. He waited. Spock did not disappoint. He lifted his own long, slender fingers and pressed their warmth to the pads of Jim’s fingers. Although this was a kiss to Spock, Jim wasn’t immune to the effect - his arm warmed, and affection swam through him. The tears that had been stagnant rose behind his eyes, making his vision blur. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered, voice raw. “I-” he began, before he realize he didn’t know what to say. A tear rolled down his cheek, and Jim broke into silent sobs, folding in on himself. 

Arms wrapped around him. The smell of _spiceheatdesert_ filled his nostrils, and Jim let the pain course through him. He cried, and cried, until his nose was stuffed and his eyes rimmed a frightful shade of red. When his tears quieted, he pulled back and wiped his nose on his forearm like a child. The look on his face - confusion and gratitude, living in the furrow between his brows, clearly conveyed the question about Spock’s willingness to show affection. 

“You clearly needed it,” Spock elaborated. “And...I, myself am not, ah, averse to physical affection. With you.” A green blush spread across his face, and Jim smiled, leaving Spock to adjust to his own awkwardness with their new relationship. 

Jim leaned forward once more, wrapping his arms under Spock’s arms and around his torso in a loose embrace. Spock’s hands traced light, hesitant circles on his back. 

“I’m so afraid to die, Spock. How am I supposed to do my job like this?” 

“You have time to recover, Jim,” Spock consoled, “and you will. Your resilience is often frightening. You also forget that you need not bear this pain alone.” He lifted Jim from him for a moment, using his hand to tip Jim’s face toward his. “I will not let you leave me again.”

“You promise?” 

“You have my word.” 

Jim sighed, his bloodshot eyes seeking Spock’s. 

“Kiss me like a human?” He pleaded, voice small and thick with need and fear. 

Spock nodded, and did so, pressing a chaste kiss to Jim’s lips. Exhaustion settled back over Jim, but this time it wasn’t edged with despair - just a kind of complete and utter tiredness that he felt to the bones. He sank back under the covers, pulling Spock’s hand with him. 

“Please stay, Spock,” Jim asked, pulling the covers down in a welcome. “I. I need you to stay.” 

Spock didn’t reply, but slid under the covers and clicked off the lamp. He turned on his side to match Jim, and pulled the human close to him. 

They slept, and Jim did not dream of the blackness.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought "Hurricane" needed a followup. This is story 2/3 (I think) in this little verse of mine. Number three will, of course, be porn, because I'm a pervert.


End file.
